


Everybody Finds Love in the End

by Oriphiel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Alcoholism, Dysfunctonal relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriphiel/pseuds/Oriphiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpts from Flannery and Oxford's lives.</p><p>They should just stay away from each other, but alas they don't. And to what end?<br/>Probably the end of one of them. Or both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Excerpt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of many excerpts. Short and quick.

"I see you have quite a few recommendations here.."  
Flannery stood before the suited man behind the desk. He flashed a quick smirk; the kind you see when someone is more than blatantly flirting with you. A small 'tsk' came from the other man by the window.  
"Well, they are a bit exaggerative if I'm completely honest-"  
"Oh don't be modest!" The sitting man said, having not at all seen Flannery's obvious flirtations. The standing one had, on the other hand. He was not impressed. His gaze said it all  
'You're telling the truth. You're not modest, because those recommendations are actually fake.'  
Flannery relaxed his shoulders briefly before regaining his posture as the man behind the desk lectured for a bit more. He knew that the other man was not really thinking that. He was probably just a bit of a surly personality, that's all. A bad day. Bad morning. Bad sleep. He had nothing to worry about! Nevertheless, this man before him did not appear to be someone you could.. persuade. At least not as easily as others.  
"Now, If you would follow Mr. Derona here, then he will gladly show you your office and introduce you to the other Managers. And if you have any questions at all, you just send them this guy's way and he'll take care of it!"


	2. Monday, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Called into your boss' office on a monday; not a good sign, Flannery.

"Hey Red, you look a bit hungover; Did'ya party all night? Hahah!"  
"You know how it is!"  
Hunter - one of the other managers and the one who insisted on calling Flannery "Red" - walked past Flannery at his desk, prompting him to slump back down. Hungover. While it wasn't actually true that he had partied all night, he couldn't deny that he was hungover. A white lie; suitable. It satiated people like Hunter so they wouldn't become suspicious and nosy - as people like Hunter tended to be - while still keeping everything privately wrapped with a neat bow. Or something. Analogies are hard when you're hungover. Or is it a metaphor. Whatever.  
Flannery jerked himself upright, surprised by the sudden sound of a folder crashing down right before his nose. Following it was a dull, pulsating in the back of his head. Flannery scrunged up his face briefly.  
"Sort this folder. Categorized by customer type, ordered alphabetically followed by phone numbers and then geography."  
"What?"  
"Sort. The. Folder"  
"Yes, yes all right. I'll have a team work on-"  
"No, do it yourself."  
"What? Why!"  
"You already have all teams assigned tasks, yes? Then let them perform those and do this yourself. It's more efficient."  
"More efficient? But I'm not really used to orga-"  
"Hmm?"  
"I mean.. What I.. I was simply saying that it's been a while since I've actually done sorting work, so I don't really know if it actually would be more sufficient."  
"Efficient."  
"Yes, that."  
"Mr. Marisel, are you really, as Mr. March said, Hungover?"  
"Hungover? Pssh, of course not! If I was, do you think I'd actually turn in for work?"  
"You would if you wanted to seem inconspicious."  
"..."  
Oxford sighed.  
"Mr. Marisel, please follow me to my office."  
Flannery didn't try to make up a white lie here. Not even a full-blown, all-black lie could cover him up now. He knew. His breath reaked of wine and.. vodka? Who even knows. Perhaps it wasn't even his breath. Maybe it was just him? Had he remembered to shower, twice, before coming here? A single time was not enough, twice was the least to make sure that nobody, including himself, could not smell the liqour. No. No he had showered. A lot - more than twice that's for sure. His eyes; They were red and puffy? His headache. Maybe his tie was ajar. All these small things would all be clues as to what had really happened the night before. And Flannery barely knew himself. A white lie; suitable.  
"So, Mr. Marisel.. Flannery. What's really going on; why are you coming to work hungover?"  
"I really don't know what you mean, I'm not hun-"  
"Don't lie to me."  
"I'm not lyi-"  
"Stop it!"  
Flannery flinched slightly. And then he cried. He quickly covered his mouth, fearing he would start to wail at any moment. Slowly but steadily his body began to slump and kind of fall in on itself until he was sitting in an awkward position on the floor beside the chair. Oxford furrowed his brow. He waited a moment as Flannery's crying began to subside.  
"Flannery, this is ridiculous. Pull yourself together."  
Like a wired machine Flannery moved to sit in the chair he so desperately held onto just now. His posture was nothing but normal. At least not normal considering how Flannery usually presented himself. Oxford, on the other hand, found this one the more 'normal' of the two.  
"Flannery, look at me."  
Nothing.  
"Look. At. Me."  
Flannery's face came into Oxford's field a vision, albeit only ever so slightly. It was an ugly sight. Unfitting. Redness in the.. Well the whole face really, tears, snot. Like a child, but not endearing. The flow of tears had nearly stopped, but Flannery still gasped every now and then. Oxford leaned forward on his desk.  
"Flannery. Listen to me here. You need to stop this. I simply cannot have you coming in not one hundred percent sober. One hundred and ten for you, actually. You seriously have to pull yourself together. I can't have one of my managers behave like this. I will have to take responsibility for your mistakes that you will make. Oh don't even try; you very well know that you cannot handle your liquor for shit. And when you can't handle that, you slip and it shows off on your work. You see the pattern here? Good. Now tell me why. I though you would have sobered up by now. Apparently I was wrong."  
Flannery sniffed.  
"It wasn't my fault-"  
Oxford pounded his fist into the table.  
"Don't even begin to smear that bullshit on me! Flannery, you're a drunk for fucks sake! You take a single sip and you're back to square one! You know this, I know this, and the whole company will fucking know this if you don't get you act together! Now!"  
"I'm- I'm sorry"  
Flannery mustered to say, before his crying fit started once again.  
"I'm so sorry Ford, I'm sorry! I just- I was- I really couldn't help it. I tried, but- but then I was so alone, and- and it all just- I'm so sorry Ford, I'm-"  
Flannery stopped. He had spoken with his eyes to the floor, never noticing that Oxford had gotten up to stand by him. To slap him.  
Oxford pulled Flannery to his feet by his collar and spoke through slightly clenched teeth.  
"You're pathetic. Those words mean nothing to me. I am your superior and I already twice now ordered you to stop this blubbering and pull yourself together, didn't I?" Flannery nodded, "Now do you want to make me say it a third time, or have you understood what I've said?" Flannery nodded again, "Good."  
Oxford put Flannery back down into the chair and offered him a box of tissues.  
"Get cleaned up and then go home. You've got the rest of the day off. And Flannery? If I ever - _ever_ \- catch even the slightest whiff of alcohol from you, whether or not it's your own or not, you're done. Fired. Understood?"  
Flannery nodded a third time, and then he left.  
At home, Flannery cried. Then he went to sleep early. Tomorrow was a Tuesday afterall.


	3. Friday, 2008

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flannery and Oxford have known each other for many years.

"Flannery? Are you there?"  
A small rustling sound could be heard from the bedroom. Oxford took off his shoes and his overcoat. First of all, the windows. He simply had to get this stench out before he could tend to the probably-almost-dead-by-now Flannery lying in the bedroom. And apparently he also had to help him with the trash. Really? Flannery couldn't even deal with the trash by himself? What in the world would become of him. Not that it actually mattered. If it wasn't because Oxford was seriously worried for Flannery's well-being, he would've left months ago. Left.  
Upon entering the bedroom, he knew. He flicked on the lights, much to Flannery's dismay. He was groaning as he lay on the floor right beside the bed. Confused and squinty-eyed he turned his head toward Oxford.  
"You're a mess. How much did you drink?"  
Flannery began to turn his head in all directions, the way birds sometimes do, just more sluggish and wobbly. As he was speaking he got on his feet. Kind of.  
"How much? Well I had one bottle. No, two. Three? Definitely four.. Five."  
"You have no idea how much-"  
"I have no idea how much I've had, heh"  
Flannery grinned.  
"You're drunk. You reek. And you probably haven't changed your clothes since last night. Go take a shower. Now."  
"Aye, Mom"  
"I'm not you goddamn mother!" Oxford yelled.  
He took half a step closer to Flannery, who immediately staggered, trying to cover in his drunken state. Oxford calmed himself.  
"I'm your friend, Flannery. At least for the time being. You should really consider stopping with the alcohol."  
"I know.."  
Oxford sighed. It was like looking at a child who knew very well that what they had done was wrong, but would do it again, over and over.  
"C'mon. I'll make you some coffee, and then I'll be off."  
Oxford left for the kitchen while speaking. It was the same every time. He'd find him on the floor, drunk and disoriented. Then he'd go to the kitchen and make coffee and then leave. The first couple of times he stayed. And he saw what became of Flannery; A hungover, blubbering mess, who needed all the help he could get. Oxford had offered this at first, but then he realized. Flannery was exploiting him. It wasn't intentional, anyone could see, but nevertheless he used Oxford. Even now as he just left Flannery to himself, the exact same got accomplished in the end, so it didn't matter whether he stayed or not. Flannery would stay the same. That was the most intolerable thing of it all. It might as well have been a stranger tending him. All these years, and still Oxford meant nothing to Flannery, and yet Oxford couldn't say the same thing. And he hated it. A fiery passion, deep inside his core. First when he learned of this, he had beaten Flannery. He had slapped him, hit him, kicked him. It didn't help. It never would. So he just stopped. Flannery couldn't quench Oxford's anger anymore. The flame had grown into a forest fire, and Oxford was forced to watch as it engulfed everything while Flannery left.  
Oxford regretted that him beating Flannery had left him fearing him. He should really leave Flannery alone. He was the source of his feelings tearing themselves apart. And he had no love left to spare for him. And so he did. Oxford left a note on Flannery's counter for when he had sobered up.

"I won't come by here again."

No greetings, no goodbye; nothing resembling emotion other than indifference and anger.  
Later that day, Flannery found the note. After reading the note Flannery just sat for a moment. He didn't cry. He did, however, soon pour himself a glass of wine.


	4. Tuesday, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a lousy Monday, perhaps Tuesday will be better, Flannery?

"Breathe."  
"Seriously? First you pat me down like I'm some kind of arms or drug dealer, now you want to smell my breath? Just get a fucking Breathalyzer." Flannery said, sneaking a soft-spoken 'freak' at the end, both hoping he would and wouldn't hear it. Unfortunately, he did hear it. Oxford quickly, but without much force, slapped Flannery.  
"It is not your own ass on the line here, it is mine. So God forbid that you even think I want to do this, but this is the only way to be sure."  
"There's also this,"  
Standing so close together, it was very easy for Flannery to lean in and give Oxford a quick kiss before leaning back again; all done in a matter of seconds. Flannery grinned at Oxford's surprised facial expression, but his smile faded as surprise turned into utter rage.  
Oxford grabbed Flannery by the throat and brought his face closer to his own.  
"Do not touch me ever again. Do not kiss me. Do not try to grab me. Consider this a threat."  
Flannery, despite his strained breathing, smirked.  
"Heh, I didn't know you liked to be rough and manhandle-y, Ford. Or should I just call you Ox; fits your temper better, doesn't it?"  
Oxford took his hand away from Flannery. Or rather, he threw Flannery, successfully releasing him. Not to say that Flannery flied through the room, but he did have to regain his balance a bit.  
"Leave."  
"Aww, Ford! Don't be like that! I was just teasin' you a bit. I just want us to be on good terms again."  
"Leave!"  
Flannery stayed.  
"Why are you just standing there? I told you to leave!"  
"You like it."  
"..."  
Flannery stepped closer.  
"You liked it, and now you're running. Have the tables turned? I believe they have."  
He walked around and stood behind Oxford. Without touching him, Flannery leaned closer to Oxford and softly spoke  
"Don't worry, Little Ox. I like it a bit rough; you won't break me, if that's what you're worri-"  
"Please leave."  
It wasn't forceful this time. It was a request; a plea. Oxford looked to the ground away from Flannery. Flannery left. Before he did, he scribbled something on a card and said:  
"If you change your mind, call me."  
And then he was out the door with a smile spreading wider and wider, ever so uncanny.


	5. Saturday, 2006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flannery tries to write a letter to Oxford, but he can't seem to get the words right.

"Dear Ford,

Do you remember when we were kids? I do. I remember most of it, at least. What I remember best where our summer vacations; we spent so many of them together. Back then though, we were just friends, weren't we? Just best friends. I wanted us to be more, y'know? I didn't know at the time, that that was what I felt, but looking back it's very clear - you enchanted me from the very first day; the very moment that we met. I'm probably wearing some rose-tinted glasses right now, but that's nostalgia for you, isn't it? Nevertheless, I remember them fondly, and so I treat them as true, for why should I go out of my way to have unhappy memories? Right? Right.

I wonder if you felt the same way. Back then, I didn't really care or think about - as I said, I wasn't even really aware of how I felt myself - and so you were just my very best friend, and I wanted to be your best friend forever.

Do you remember, when we got a bit older, how we'd ride together on one bike down towards the beach? Just ride down the empty roads in the midsummer sunsets, listening to music and chatting and laughing? I laughed so much; we both did. It was so much fun!

I'm sorry for what happened, y'know. I though we would be the outcasts forever, but then suddenly other people were hanging around me. It happened so gradually, I never really noticed the change. I started hanging out with the others more, and less with you. You must have felt so casted aside. Betrayed even. And then those harsh words. I can't believe I said that to you, I feel so dumb, so stupid! I don't hold it against you, that you walked away; you were in your right. I see that now. I see it.

Ford, please come back to me, I miss you. I miss us, how we could laugh and talk and spend time together, just like those summer evenings. How can I apologize? How can I make up for it? Can I even make up for it? I probably can't ca-"

The letter ended abruptly. They always did.

Flannery wrote many letters, all addressed the same. They all followed the same structure: He'd start out by reminiscing their early friendship and how lovely it would be, then he'd bring up that one time at the party, and then he'd digress into full-blown, pathetic, apologetic, melodramatic self-pity. And then he'd stop, because that's not what he wanted this letter to be. He wanted so desperately to value the happiness they had shared together, and to try and reach out and possibly reconcile. Yet he was always reduced to this: a blubbering mess. Tear-stains had gotten on the letter, and so he simply threw it in his paper-bin. It was starting to fill up, he should really consider emptying it. But all those letters. Flannery slowly cleared his desk, as he felt a fit of crying coming on. As it started to peak, the desk was clear for him to simply, gently lay his head and cry, letting the tears drop down on the wood.

It was actually an uncomfortable posture, hunched over like this, but he felt it befitting his current mood. It didn't hurt or anything, but he could feel it between his shoulders that he would get an ache should he sit like this too long. He disregarded it for now. He had to let his emotions out for now. Perhaps some other day, he'd be able to write that letter.

The next day, Flannery woke up at his desk with a terrible pain in his back.


	6. Friday, 2015 - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oxford is getting tired of Flannery's BS.
> 
> So Flannery decides to go hang out with Hunter.
> 
> Fun.

"Marisel. Hunter." Oxford said, his usual stern "I've had three cups of coffee, yet it is not nearly enough"-expression (aka frowny-face) as he was, briskly, walking towards his office. What he didn't know was, that today would turn for the worse and it would do so fast and it would be, allegedly, because of Hunter.  
"Good morning Ford!" Hunter said.  
"Marisel. My office, right now."  
"Huh? Why? I haven't-"  
"My office. /now/"  
Flannery was confused. He had stayed completely dry - when at work, at least - and had remembered to be presentable so that Oxford wouldn't lose his.. image? He wasn't exactly sure what kind of 'image' Oxford had, in fact he wasn't really sure about anything regarding Oxford. A small realization happened for Flannery; He was very selfish. Oh well. He wondered what Oxford was going to rant about this time.  
"You're fired."  
Flannery had just closed the door and was in the middle of sitting down when Oxford spoke. He caught Flannery very off guard. He was very startled.  
"Fired?"  
"Yes, fired. I am firing you. I want you to pack your things and be gone in the next couple of weeks."  
"Why?! Because I told Hunter I used to call you Ford? Really?"  
"Of course not. And you've been calling me Ford around the others many times, proably without you noticing; they would've picked up - especially Hunter would've - sooner or later. Besides, I'm not that hysterical over a nickname."  
"Then what the hell? This seems way out of the blue, really. And I really demand that you explain to me, exactly why and when and ho-"  
"It's you. I can't have you around me."  
Flannery fell silent. He felt guilty.  
"Can't you see it yourself? I'm taking care of you, just like I always do, and I can't have that. I can't busy myself with you."  
Flannery knew. He had also seens this, possibly long before Oxford had. Perhaps he kind of wanted it. No. Not 'perhaps' or 'kind of'. Flannery wanted this; he wanted Oxford to take care of him. He felt safe. And then another realization happened to Flannery.  
"You like me. You still like me."  
"I do not. I frankly can't stand you."  
"Or maybe you can't stand that I'm right on this one."  
"Flannery, just stop it. I think it's also better for you if you just go away."  
For some time, Flannery said nothing. He was aware that this was probably the most peaceful conversation they had ever had. So far.  
"But," Flannery started, "But where will I go?"  
It wasn't really that he was sad. Well, he was, but he always was, so that wasn't what was happening right now. He was lost.  
"I don't know Flannery, I don't. And I don't really care, as long as you just go."  
"Oxford, where do I go? What do I do?"  
Flannery was slowly getting caught in a loop. He could feel how his thoughts slowly glitched and began to spiral around themselves, creating a mess of endlessly repeating thoughts. His requests were earnest and vulnerable. Like a lost child. Then panic began to set in.  
"Oxford, please let me stay. I'll do it better, I'll be better!"  
"Flannery.. You have no idea what you're doing. You cheated your way through the system and now your lies have caught up. You don't have any idea of what your job really is, do you?"  
"I- I didn't cheat! You saw those recommendations! They're the real deal!"  
"And what did you do to get them; sleep with your bosses? I bet you did."  
"I didn't! Why would I do that?"  
"Well whatever. Just remember; about two weeks time and you're gone."  
"Wait, Oxford- Ford! Please! I'll- I'll do whatever you want!"  
"Whatever?"  
"Whatever!"  
"Like you offered your bosses in exchange of the recommendations."  
"No!"  
A pause spread between them.  
"Whatever." Aux said, "I don't want anything you could offer me anyway. So go; you still have work to do."  
"Work?" Flannery said, confused. It wasn't meant to come out as a one-word sentence, making him sound like a child, but alas it did, and he hated it.  
"Yes, work. You know, that thing that you're supposed to do to actually justify your salary? Do that. For once, please. I told you, you have the next couple of weeks to pack. Until then, you work. /Actually/ work."  
Flannery wanted to talk back. Say that he actually had been working (truth) and that he really, really wanted to keep this job (half truth). That he would do better (white lie) and that he could change (lie), would change (lie) and deep inside, secretly, wanted to change (lie). But he didn't. He didn't say any of those things. He replied with a mere "Okay.." followed up by "Can I leave now?" To which Oxford sighed and simply waved him away.

Flannery closed the door behind him with a sigh that expressed both relief of being away from Oxford's hard words, but also helplessness. Flannery slowly felt how anxiety crept at the corners of his mind. He still didn't know what he would do without this job. He couldn't very get a position like it, probably. And then he would have to move.. somewhere. He wondered briefly how his mother would react to him showing up on her doorstep. Probably not well. She'd probably faint. He walked (or perhaps more accurately "trudged") towards his desk, thinking these thoughts when he was disturbed.

"Was it that bad? He's really good at telling people off, though that's really not a very useful skill, is it?" It was Hunter. He laughed. "So what did you actually do to anger him?"

An opportunity shine brightly in Flannery's mind.

"Heh, it wasn't really that bad, actually," Flannery put on his fakest smile. Well, fake to him; he was pretty sure it looked genuine. "He just wasn't too happy with the quality of my work, that's all!"

"Really? That's all?" Hunter said. "But he sounded so serious!"

"Doesn't he always?" Flannery laughed, and Hunter followed him. Oxford emerged from his office. It wasn't really planned by Flannery to be this well-timed, but he somehow had a knack for producing situations like these.

"Say Hunter, are you free later? Do you wanna go for a drink or two maybe? I mean, it is /almost/ friday afterall!"

Hunter was a bit surprised. Flannery never wanted to join in on social events.

"Well, sure! I'm doing anything, so that should be fine! But only a few; I don't want to be hungover tomorrow, I don't think I can get any work done then!

And as the two laughed together about drunken mistakes and forgotten evenings, Oxford looked at them - at Flannery - and it dawned on him, what terrible mistake he had made.


	7. Friday, 2015 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that day, Oxford arrives at Flannery's home.
> 
> But it appears he's in for a not-so-surprising surprise.

"Flannery! Flannery!" Oxford hammered on the door to Flannery's apartment. It was ungodly early, but he had to be here before work and he was quite sure that Flannery would be home by now anyways. The door opened.  
"Flannery! I'm so glad to-"  
"Oxford? What are you doing here?"  
The man opening the door was not Flannery. It was in fact Hunter. Oxford was speechless for a moment. He hadn't expected it to go so quickly. He hadn't expected Hunter to fall into the trap so quickly. And why wasn't Flannery answering the door himself? Where was Flannery anyways? Hunter's outfit clearly spelled 'casual'; they had obviously already been out. But it wasn't that late - thought it wouldn't be too hard to concieve that Flannery had gotten drunk quickly and had to go home. Or would it? Now that Oxford thought about it, he remembered that alcoholics have a much higher tolerance because of the severe drinking.  
"Oxford, are you.. okay? Do you know Flannery? And why were you screaming?" Hunter asked. Oxford didn't hear him, he was still deep in thought.  
Oxford cleared his throat.  
"S-sorry for that. I-" It dawned on Oxford, that he had no excuse for being here. None. He had yelled Flannery's name, so there wasn't any backing down from that. He could be honest? Pfft, as if. That could cause serious tension at work if Hunter was let into the drama that Flannery was causing. He still had to deflate the situation though.  
"Yes I do know Flannery. We grew up in the same town as kids, but then my parents moved away."  
"Okaay, but why yelling his name and hammering on the door?"  
"I guess I can't really run from that." Oxford said, giving a, what he hoped was, a convincing, slightly embarrassed laugh. It was very fake, however. "Flannery has been avoiding his work lately. At least I haven't recieved anything from him that could be of any use. And his project is nearing its deadline and so yes I went to visit his home to have a chat with him, and I guess I let my feelings get a bit carried away there. I must apologize for the inappropriate display of behavior." Feelings? Sure they were there, but what kind were they? Was he concerned? No. He had stopped being concerned many years ago. Was he angry? Yes, but he was always angry at Flannery, and he had learned to live with it. Mostly. Was he jealous? He wasn't. At all. He hoped not, at least. No. No, he wasn't jealous; he couldn't be. What would he be jealous of? Of the incessant need for care? The lying? The sex? The theft? The crying - so much crying? The fear that one day he would enter and find Flannery dead on the floor? No. No he was not jealous at all.  
He was afraid.  
He was afraid that Hunter should go through all this. Hunter wasn't part of this, and yet in some twisted way, he now was. A twisted scheme orchestrated by the alcohol-intoxicated brain of poor, ever-manipulative Flannery.  
"So do you wanna come in, or..?"  
"No! No. No that's quite alright. I'll come back another day maybe."  
"You could always, y'know, speak with him at work?"  
"As you may have noticed, I have tried that."  
"Oh. Right."  
"Well," Oxford said and took a step away from the door, still facing Hunter, "I'll leave now. If you get any trouble with Flannery, just call okay?"  
"Uhm, okay?"  
Oxford made a small affirming noise (at least Hunter believed it was affirming; it could just as well have been a "i'm pissed, annoyed AND embarrassed" noise) and left.

Hunter closed the door and went inside again.  
"Who was it?"  
"Oh, uhm, Oxford?"  
"Oh!..." Flannery paused for a second, surprised by the answer, "Well, did he want something?"  
"He said something about you not doing your paperwork properly I guess, and then he insinuated that you would cause trouble - do you two have a history together?"  
"Well, what did he tell you?"  
"That you grew up in the same town as kids??"  
"Yeah. Yeah that's about right. I think I remember him."  
A silence hung in the air for a splitsecond.  
"Welp! let's toast!" said Flannery, as he poured yet another glass of wine for them both.


	8. Wednesday, 2002

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's close to Flannery's graduation! But.. where is he?

Wednesday, 2002

"So my graduation is on Friday next week; make sure you make it!!"  
"Will you calm down? You've been telling me for at least a month now. I've double-triple checked to make sure I don't have any plans that day- and before you ask, yes, I have made sure to manage my schoolwork properly so that won't get in the way either and no, there won't be any surprise family-matters popping up out of nowhere." I said, "Don't worry, Flannery. I'll be there, I promise"  
He started smiling. That enormous grin. He just looked so happy. I smiled back at him.

That was last week. And now I'm here, in front of two people who only had one question:

"Do you know the whereabouts of Flannery P. Marisel?"

"May I ask what this is about?" I asked back. I was unsure on whom I should be looking at, so my gaze just kind of jumped from one to the other occasionally. Not even a moment passed, really, before the woman spoke.

"We have reason to believe that Mr. Marisel has been missing since last thursday."

"However," the man continued, "It wouldn't be the first time if it turned out Mr. Marisel had run away, would it?"

"What? Run away? Flannery Haven't ever run away as far as I know!"

"Last year he was gone for several days, but then turned up at his mother's home. His own explanation was that he had 'run away'"

"Last year? But.." I tried to rack my brain for anything; clues, signs, just whatever that could have indicated that he would have reason to run away. His mother was a.. Well, suffice to say that she wasn't exactly nice all the time. But For that to be a reason enough to run away.. Something just wasn't adding up. "Well isn't this just a similar case then? As you said, it wouldn't be the first time. Besides, if he previously was gone for several days, he should be turning up by now, yes?"

"Right, but the thing is," the woman changed her posture a bit, "We have eye-witness accounts of Mr. Marisel leaving with an unknown person."

"An unknown person?!"

"Yes, none of the witnesses could identify the other person. He's described as a man in his late-twenties, early-thirties, fair skin, short, dark-blonde hair and wearing a large winter jacket"

"A winter jacket? But it's summer?"

"Do you know anyone by this description?"

"No! No I don't! And what would Flannery be doing with someone so shady?!"

"Sir, we don't know. We just want to find Mr. Marisel."

The two people got up.

"Thanks for answering our questions. We apologize for the inconvenience. Should you happen to recall any relevant information," the woman reached in her coat, got a small business card and put it on the table, "Then please contact us."

And then they left. And I was all alone with the weirdest feeling. And lots of questions. One of the bigger ones was, 'what happened last year, that made Flan leave for several days?'. And what about the strange man?! How did Flannery even know such a person? And why would Flan leave with him?!

While thinking all of this, the picture of Flannery sitting on the table with his feet beside me on the bench, his freckled face smiling at me came to me. All the questions disappeared, but a single new question emerged.

"What are you keeping from me?"


End file.
